


Death's Diary: The Parisians

by MalaysianTiger



Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
Genre: Auschwitz, Death's Diary: The Parisians, His writing style is hard, I got my book signed by Markus Zusak, I literally have so much respect for him, Liesel Meminger (mentioned), Max Vandenberg (mentioned), Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 00:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10978983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalaysianTiger/pseuds/MalaysianTiger
Summary: "Imagine that, an individual like me feared death. Or rather, humanity."A story of Auschwitz told from Death's point of view in Zusak's style.





	Death's Diary: The Parisians

**Author's Note:**

> My English creative was this:  
> Select an event in the Book Thief and explore it in greater detail  
> It's based on the chapter 'Death's Diary: The Parisians' where he first visits Auschwitz. It starts a little before the chapter and the chapter immediately follows and its written in Death's style.
> 
> I've taken some liberty with the dates.
> 
> Edit: I got rid of the dates.

DEATH’S DIARY: THE PARISIANS

Someone had died.

Didn’t it always start like that?

The carriage was a murky brown and reeked of death. The smell of death is rather distinct, like the acidic taste of a lemon, it’s never completely forgotten. Only distracted from.

Unsurprisingly, a Jew was the one who had died. Other Jews were crowding around him, inspecting the corpse like a fascinating painting. No tears were left.

Meanwhile, around them the rickety carriage continued to cart them to their destination.

**A NOTE ABOUT THE PASSENGERS**

**The Jews in that carriage did not know that their friend**

**Had a merciful death.**

**I should know.**

Auschwitz. The terrors that awaited them were something I had never seen before. But I digress, I grasped the Jew’s empty soul and took it away.

And curiosity brought me back.

Exactly like the Book Thief.

I should have learned that my curiosity brings me nothing but trouble. I already have too much trouble on my hands. I don’t need more. But I ignored that niggling feeling for the pursuit of knowledge.

Why did this carriage feel so significant?

All too soon the passengers and I were at the end of the tracks, the Jews being passed along like cans on an assembly line.

On the gate, it read: ARBEIT MACHT FREI.

**A TRANSLATION**

**Work sets you free.**

Upon seeing this sign, a few had a look of hope around them. Maybe they’d survive this. But most of it had been extinguished long ago, by uniformed men with blank faces.

No wonder.

This wasn’t going to end well, I thought to myself.

When soldiers get involved, hardly anything does.

 

A large new building loomed on the horizon.

 

I followed the passengers as they were herded, eventually to a spotted-with-grass field.

“Zieh aus! Strip!”

The Jews exchanged looks.

“NOW!”

I ponder what The Book Thief would say if she knew The Fist Fighter’s fate led here.

Not wanting to incur their wrath, they did so. Lined up shivering on the edge of the pitch, their clothes were heaped on the ground.

Motionless. Lifeless.

Now, run, the guards told the shivering passengers.

Run they did.

And as always, I observed from the sidelines.

 

As each runner crossed the finish line, they were given medals of colourless ‘camp clothing’ and separated into two lines.

The first line, of strong young men, were sent away to a building with the smell of gunpower that cleaved its way through the air to embed itself in a willing receptacle.

The second one, of panting children and feeble bodies, were sent away to be ‘cared’ for.

I followed the second line. It seemed to be the more interesting of the two.

**A WARNING**

**Interesting wasn’t the word I would use.**

 

The second time the passengers were told to strip, was outside a room. The cold metal of the room seemed to beckon to me, as if it held the answers to every question I had. I had many questions.

_Come._

I stayed and watched instead.

I curse my curiosity.

Oh, how I wish I had escaped to the edge of the world, leapt off and never stopped. Away from that horror. I wish I could have warned myself.

The Jews stepped in.

And the jaws of the room snapped shut, like the steel jaws of a predator. Once it had its prey, it never let go.

Their destinies were sealed, their souls jagged edges, ripped away from _aliveness_.

**MY THOUGHTS**

**That fateful carriage was the first of many.**

**I didn’t want to go back.**

**Imagine that**

**An individual like me feared death.**

**Or rather,**

**Humanity.**

 

It was World War II. Auschwitz. The sky was the colour of black Jews.

I cannot understand humanity.

**Author's Note:**

> WRITING LIKE MARKUS ZUSAK IS SO HARD WHAT EVEN 
> 
> i admire him a lot more now...


End file.
